Guesthouse
by TheGhostWhoWatchesDeers
My top hat
full of thick liquid.
It looks like the sun
dazzled itself to nausea,
through the window of
desperate fingerprints
- to my precious
black, top hat.
I can feel
under my body, the dirty marks
people left before
me, when grunting and
humping and crying.
The bitch at the reception,
filled crosswords and smoked
two at a time,
told I will enjoy my time
at their guesthouse
- with teeth, that could
make dentists despise
their job.
In the closet, my clothes
dropped from the hanger
- guess they have given up.
I'm still considering,
using my precious
top hat.